


sun rising under our feet

by icarusandtheson



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Gen, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 14:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusandtheson/pseuds/icarusandtheson
Summary: Alex's first summer as a camp counselor is almost over. Unfortunately for him, two months and change hasn't been long enough to talk himself out of his complicated feelings for his boss.[In which Washington owns and runs a kid's camp and Alex doesn't like kids nearly enough to be working here in his twenties, but somehow stumbles into the most fulfilling job he's ever had.]





	sun rising under our feet

Alex takes the stairs out of the cabin two at a time, hands in his hair as he fumbles it into a ponytail. He’s late; Eliza texted him a five-minute warning at least fifteen minutes ago, but he somehow thought he had time to finish getting down a few ideas he hadn’t had the time to last night. The last hair elastic he has snaps in his hand, stinging. Alex swears as he shoves it into his pocket, grateful for the empty path.

He runs into a few clusters of campers on his way -- trying to assert some independence, or maybe they’re just beyond ready to be out of here -- and shoos them out ahead of him.

“If I have to go, so do you,” he says, and his utter lack of enthusiasm at the prospect seems to cheer them up a little. He follows them out onto the field where the rest of the camp is gathering. 

Hercules stands at the sidelines with a handful of other counselors sorting the kids into groups, but he pauses to fix Alex with a look, his eyes laughing. “You’re late.” 

Alex jerks his head towards the campers he came out with, drifting off now to join their friends. They’ll thank him for the memories later -- probably. “If Washington asks, I was collecting stragglers.”

Hercules raises his eyebrows meaningfully and Alex doesn’t get it, until he does. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Washington says from behind him, patently amused, “but I’m very grateful for your diligence, Alexander.” 

Alex shoots Hercules a poisonous look that he shrugs at, and then spins on his heel to face Washington. It’s a mistake.

He’s seen a lot of Washington in this summer at his camp, both in and out of his office, and every time Washington has been nothing sort of immaculate. Even on the late days preparing for the season when they were all surviving on the same shitty cafeteria coffee, even when there was a minor crisis blooming with the kids or their parents or the weather, he’s never seen Washington so much as loosen his collar. If he had, or if Washington managed to make it out to activities more often than he does, maybe he’d be a little less jarred by the man in front of him.

Washington looks down at him, a faded baseball cap shading his eyes from the sun. He’s in a T-shirt and jogging shorts, the same as most of them, and there’s suddenly _ so much of him. _ Alex can’t find a safe place for his eyes to land; Washington’s arms bared to the warm air, his broad chest, his thighs straining at the fabric of his shorts as he shifts his weight. His face, relaxed and open for once, his smile an easy thing that makes Alex’s chest tighten. 

“Did you finish writing?” Washington asks, knowing. 

Alex doesn’t wince, but it’s a near thing. “Almost.”

Washington makes a sound like he wants to laugh, but doesn’t. “A few hours away from it might do you some good. Try to have some fun?”

“I will,” Alex says, even if he doesn’t manage to sound much more enthusiastic than he feels. His cabin kept him up last night talking and reminiscing about their time here and he’s still not sure he’s completely awake, let alone ready to deal with all that youthful enthusiasm. 

Washington does laugh, then, and rests a hand on Alex’s shoulder. The warmth of him bleeds through the thin fabric of Alex’s shirt and diffuses through his skin. “You’re partnered up with Lafayette and Laurens for the first half. I’ll be running flag football if you need me.” 

Alex nods. “Right, yeah. Thanks.” Washington’s hand falls away, and with a nod at him and Hercules, he leaves. Alex watches the muscles shift in his back until Hercules nudges him with his elbow. 

“Dude,” Hercules says. Alex can’t tell if the word is more soaked in exasperation or pity. 

“Shut _ up,” _Alex snaps. Eliza and John are waving to him from their stations across the field, and Alex goes to them gratefully.

\-----------

He does, actually, have fun. He manages to get an extra hair tie off of Eliza before she heads to her station, and then the rest is a blur of color and water bursts. He catches John in the side of his head despite the below-the-shoulders rule, and the look on his friend’s face is worth Lafayette making him sit out the rest of that round to provide “a good example”.

“You’re just bitter you didn’t get him first,” Alex tells him. 

Lafayette shrugs, not bothering to deny it. “You had the advantage, you’re almost the same height -- I have to aim lower, it’s not nearly as accurate.” 

Alex scowls at him, and Lafayette grins dazzlingly before heading off to regroup the campers. 

“You _ fucker,” _John hisses as he passes, quiet enough so the kids won’t hear. “I’m going to end you.” 

He catches Alex full in the back of the head with a water balloon that is _ definitely _filled beyond regulation requirements, soaking Alex’s hair and back all the way down to his ass. It’s freezing, and the yelp he lets out is loud enough to draw looks from across the field. 

Washington turns to look, and John waves at him, grinning. “We’re good!” 

Washington glances between him and Alex, a now-familiar weariness scrawled across his face, and turns to Lafayette. 

“We’re fine,” Lafayette assures, and Washington nods and turns back around without comment. 

“Wow,” John says. “Should I feel insulted? I feel a little insulted.”

“If I catch pneumonia from this, you’re nursing me back to health,” Alex warns, wringing his shirt out. 

“It’s your own fault,” John says, guiltless. Alex is going to throttle him without an ounce of regret as soon as he catches his breath. “You broke the rules first -- be grateful I didn’t tell Washington.” 

“What are you, _ five?” _

“John’s right,” Lafayette says. “I don’t think you would like getting sent to Washington’s office very much. Well, not when he’s not in there, at least.”

It’s war, after that.

\-----------

Alex’s clothes are soaked through by the time Washington calls time, and he ignores the wide-eyed looks from the other counselors as he crosses the field to join the group. John doesn’t look much better thanks to a couple of their campers mobbing him to take revenge, so Alex at least feels like his honor has been appropriately defended. 

“I didn’t actually think you guys were serious about this,” Alex admits, glancing across to where the kids are gathering in an unsettlingly hungry-looking hoard. 

“One last indignity to round out the day,” John agrees, nodding grimly. 

Hercules considers the rope at their feet, a faded, sturdy thing that looks like it’s seen some years. He looks over his shoulder at Washington. “How long do we draw it out this time?”

Washington shrugs. “We’ll play it by ear -- a few minutes, maybe. That should be enough to convince them that they’ve earned it on their own.” 

Alex frowns. “Wait, we’re _ letting _them win?”

Washington slants him a long-suffering look. “Yes, Alexander. We’re letting the _ children _win a game of tug of war.” 

“It’s for the greater good,” Eliza puts in. “They have to work out all that pent-up rebellion somehow.” 

“Get ready to feel the force of every phone you’ve confiscated and every ounce of forced participation you’ve demanded on the other end of that rope,” Burr adds, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“At least the ground’s soft,” John mutters. “Last year it hadn’t rained in weeks, I _ still _have that scar.” 

Hercules snorts. “You fell on me, you were fine.” 

“You do this every year?” Alex raises an eyebrow at Washington. “How is nobody suspicious that you’re throwing the game every time? Some of these kids have been coming for ages.”

“They’re young,” Washington says, “which means they’re supremely confident in their own invincibility. You should know something about that.”

Alex bristles a little at the dig, but Washington’s eyes are warm, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That,” Washington allows, “or they like taking us down a few notches well enough to put aside their pride. We may never know.” 

He’s teasing, and Alex doesn’t know what to do with it, so he just smiles, quick and thin, and turns his attention back to the campers swarming across the field. 

Washington claps his hands together and calls for quiet. “Alright, most of you know how this goes, but for our new campers,” his gaze settles on Alex for a moment, and Alex straightens despite himself, “and counselors, this is what our campers have to look forward to as a reward for putting up with us for a few years: welcome to tug of war.” The kids start shouting and cheering; Washington cuts them a disapproving look, and they hush so quickly that Alex has to choke back a laugh. This close, he can see the smile Washington is smothering. “The rules are basic enough: counselors against graduating campers, on the count of three pull until one side falls or lets go. That being said, if you start to feel pain anywhere, let go. I don’t want to see any skinned hands or hurt shoulders just because you want to drag us into the mud, do I make myself clear?”

There’s a general rumble of agreement, quickly breaking off into excited chatter. 

Washington frowns. “Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes sir,” they chorus. A few actually look chastened, but overwhelmingly they’re smiling, some a little rueful, all of them fond and thoroughly used to this. They’ll miss him, Alex realizes. They’ll miss the camp, and all the counselors, but they’ll miss Washington too, the steady no-nonsense presence of him, the absolute certainty that everything will be okay because he’ll figure things out. Alex wonders if Washington knows, if any of them have ever bothered to tell him. He hopes so. 

“Good,” Washington says. “Now, good luck, and may the best side win.” 

It’s pandemonium for a few minutes while the campers decide their order, working with a precision Alex wouldn’t think them capable of, considering the amount of group bonding activities he’s dragged them through kicking and screaming. 

“You’re wasted running a camp,” Alex mutters. “Somewhere out there’s a floundering small country that needs you desperately. That, or an army regiment.” 

“I’ll take that as the compliment I’m sure you meant it to be,” Washington says drily. “Grab the rope, and brace yourself. Aaron wasn’t kidding -- they have a lot of motivation.” 

The rope comes up and pulls taught. Alex is faintly surprised when Washington settles in behind him, but then the kids are finally moving into place and he has to focus forward. 

“There’s more of them than there are of us,” Alex points out as more and more campers attach themselves to the rope. 

Washington snorts softly. “Dig your feet in.” 

“I’m just saying --”

“On three,” Washington says to the assembly, a laugh edging his voice, just for a moment. The rope trembles. “One, two -- three!”

The rope snaps taught under his hands, coarse fibers scraping Alex’s palms. _ “Jesus.” _

Washington laughs from behind him, loud and unfettered. Alex wants to turn and look at him, possibly more than he’s ever wanted anything. He can see Washington’s hands out of the corner of his eye, wrapped firm around the rope and straining to hold it back. Alex swallows against a lump in his throat. 

They manage to hold the campers back, but it’s not as easy as Alex thought it would be, his whole body protesting as he leans back. The kids are out for blood, and Alex might be a little offended if that wasn’t the entire point. Washington is shouting encouragement to the campers or counselors or both, his voice strained from the effort, delighted. Alex makes his second mistake of the day, and looks back. 

His eyes follow the rope until it brings him to Washington’s hands, his arms, muscles bunched as he strains against the rope. There’s a glint of competition in his eyes that Alex isn’t used to seeing, and he thinks he understands now why the counselors have to make a conscious effort to let the kids win. Washington catches his eye and grins, reassuring and bright enough to rival the sun overhead. 

The rope chooses that moment to jerk forward. Alex isn’t sure if the counselors are easing up or the campers are gaining -- and he’s decidedly not expecting the kids to smell weakness and double down. The rope snaps forward, jarring him backwards and straight into Washington’s chest. Alex has a moment to be mortified before the rope is ripped out of his hands, his feet sliding out from under him. Washington’s arm wraps around his waist, attempting to steady him, but the momentum refuses to break, and Alex goes down with a shout.

The impact hurts marginally less than it should, and it takes him a moment to work out why, a second of reprieve before reality sets in. 

“Well,” Washington says from underneath him, a little winded, “I’d say that looked genuine enough.” His arm is still slung around Alex’s waist, the whole solid length of his body pressed against Alex’s. Alex can smell him, the scent of aftershave and warm sweat drawn in with every breath he takes. Alex is almost positive that he’s had this dream before, right down to the horrible shame working its way up his throat, nightmare-like. 

Alex pushes himself up but freezes as his muscles lock up, the ache in them knife-sharp. “Shit,” he hisses, and then Washington’s arm is gone and he aches in an entirely new way. 

“Slowly,” Washington advises, and Alex feels him move. Alex hazards a glance at him and finds him propped up on his elbows, his brows knitted together in faint concern. Alex can feel the steady movement of his breathing, the firm pressure of his thigh as it shifts under him.

Alex pushes off of him like he’s been burned; Washington makes a noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t say anything, even if the abrupt pressure can’t have been comfortable. The ground is damp and unpleasantly warm underneath him, but at least it’s marginally safer; Washington is still looking at him, and Alex wishes he would stop. 

Alex feels hands on him and flinches -- just for a moment, but it’s long enough for Washington to notice. His brows draw together tighter, something unreadable in his eyes. 

“Hey,” says Hercules. “Come on, let’s get you up.”

Alex turns his head, sees Hercules and Lafayette with their hands outstretched. Alex takes them, grimacing as they help him straighten up. 

“Be grateful they’re not allowed to have their phones, or you would’ve gone viral within the hour,” John says. “Actually, scratch that -- someone definitely managed to smuggle one out here.” He reaches forward and plucks a piece of grass out of Alex’s hair. 

Alex glares, and then turns with the intention of helping Washington up. He’s already on his feet, though, brushing the worst of the grass and dirt off of his clothes. 

Alex grimaces. “I’m so sorry --”

Washington waves him off. “It happens every year. I’m just glad I was there to break your fall.” He looks Alex up and down, assessing. “Are you alright?” His gaze makes Alex abruptly aware of how wet his shirt still is, the way it’s clinging to his arms and his chest, and what a complete mess he is. He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s wanted to hide and make himself small in his adult life, and being on the receiving end of Washington’s too-perceptive gaze for the last two months has taken up a disproportionate amount of that space. 

“Yeah,” Alex says, his voice sticking a little in his dry throat. “I’m fine.” 

Washington arches a brow, concerned and not a little skeptical. He doesn’t take a step forward, but his body shifts like he’s about to. “You’re sure?”

Alex steps back, automatic, and something moves across Washington’s face that hurts to look at. Irritation flares in Alex’s chest, welcome for how familiar it is, how easy. All these people watching, his _ colleagues _watching, and Washington fussing over him like he’s one of their kids, like he’s so young and stupid that he’s only just now learning he’s not invincible. 

“I’m _ fine,” _he repeats, through gritted teeth. Washington’s other brow rises to meet its twin, surprised. Alex braces for the inevitable chastisement, even if he’s sure it will be about as effective as bracing for the recoil of the rope. Either way, he’ll end up knocked down. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Washington says, careful and sincere. He steps back. “If you’ll excuse me, I should go congratulate our winners.”

Abruptly, Alex is aware of their surroundings again, the campers laughing and cheering -- Alex recognizes a handful of familiar chants. He looks away and nods, not that Washington needs his permission, and doesn’t make eye contact with any of the other counselors until he regains control of his own face. 

\-----------

The kids are allowed to run wild for a little while, gorging on the ridiculous amount of ice cream Washington has pulled out of thin air despite a generally firm no-junk rule -- as far as Alex knows, this and campfire s’mores are his only concessions -- so Alex stays under a tree with the other counselors, supervising in the loosest possible sense of the word. Washington is around, and the campers behave for him better than they do for any of them, either out of adoration or healthy intimidation. Probably both -- Alex is living proof that it’s possible. 

He’s still sore and filthy, still vividly embarrassed, but it’s hard to hold onto any of that too tightly when the kids are so excited -- all of them are old enough to shrug off this easy kind of fun for fear of looking lame or immature, but the sun is bright and warm and they just beat their counselors into the ground -- literally. They can act their age for a little while, be young without the fear of it. 

“This is why they like him,” John says, gesturing with his popsicle stick. “He shows up once a summer with the entire ice cream section of a mid-level grocer and then disappears back into administration again. He’s like Santa. Meanwhile, we have to get them through every day without a major crisis.” 

Hercules shrugs. “I’ll take second-most loved if it means I can still use the threat of sending someone to his office to keep a little order.”

“Hold up, _ you’re _second? My ass you’re second --” 

Alex rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet -- he’ll get the highlights of the argument later, along with whoever won the coveted title. 

Washington is sitting in the sun, a little apart like always. He looks up when Alex approaches and inclines his head in invitation. 

Alex settles onto the grass beside him. It’s a good spot, comfortably warm with a clear view of the whole field. “That was not in the budget,” he says, eyeing the frankly ridiculous number of boxes in the grass. Nearly all have been torn open and gutted by eager little hands, the rest stored in coolers in the shade. 

Washington glances at him out of the corner of his eye, mouth curving. “Not in the camp’s, no.” 

Alex huffs a laugh, pure disbelief. “Why am I even surprised? Of course you did.” 

Washington shrugs. “They go home tomorrow. They deserve a good send-off.” 

The way he says it catches Alex off guard, even if the sentiment is familiar by now: like it’s an incontestable fact that these children deserve something good and it’s his responsibility to provide it. Instead of looking too closely at why that feels so vital, or remembering how it was that quiet conviction that persuaded Alex to take a job he would have scoffed at a year ago, Alex says, “In that case, s’mores or no s’mores tonight?” 

Washington hums, thoughtful. “There’s precedent for it. I’ll leave it up to all of you if you want to sacrifice the night’s sleep and deal with the complaints in the morning.” 

Alex sighs. Two nights in a row -- not that he really minds that much, he’s pulled longer for worse reasons. “Yeah, probably.” 

“Will you tell a story tonight?” 

Alex shrugs. “If they want it.”

“They always want it, if it’s you,” Washington says. “I’d say steer clear of anything too frightening so they can get some sleep, but --”

“We’ve already established that’s not happening. Yeah, I can do something a little scary. One last good campfire memory.” 

“Thank you, Alexander,” Washington says, grateful like it’s a personal favor Alex is doing and he owes him one for it. Alex can’t think about it, or he’ll lose his grip on something vital. 

A comfortable silence falls, punctuated by shouts and laughter -- campers, counselors, both. From here, the groups don’t look all that distinct, and Alex wonders if this is how Washington sees them always. Lafayette and John were campers back when Washington was just head counselor, before he bought the place out, the Schuylers too. Alex tries to imagine being in his place, and can’t really picture ever not seeing the kids he led and comforted and protected, even if they were adults in their own right. 

“How are you feeling?” Washington asks, drawing Alex’s attention back. 

Alex rolls his shoulders, and the movement is only slightly inconvenient. “I’ll live.” He glances at Washington’s stained clothes and frowns. “Are you okay? I didn’t even ask -- I fell right on top of you.”

Washington cuts him a wryly amused look. “I’ve learned how to take a fall after all these years. You’re not particularly heavy, either.” 

Alex’s shoulders stiffen. He doesn’t look at Washington’s body, doesn’t note the way it’s stretched out long and broad on the grass, but that doesn’t stop him from making the comparisons Washington must be making. Inevitably: Alex coming up short by every possible measure. He breathes, and lets the self-pity go -- it’s never done him any good before. 

When Alex stays silent, Washington’s expression softens. “I’m fine, son. You don’t need to worry about me, alright?”

“Alright,” Alex says. He wonders, though, who actually _ is _ left to worry about Washington, sitting here with the well-being of everyone else resting on his shoulders. Alex wonders if it ever presses down on him. 

They don’t talk any more about the fall, or Alex’s reaction to it. Alex knows he’s forgiven for being kind of an ass, if there was even anything to forgive in the first place. It shouldn’t matter to him as much as it does, and he knows he needs to work on distancing himself from wanting it. 

Washington leans back onto his hands and tilts his face into the sun. He smiles at an outburst of delighted shrieks from the younger kids, and Alex can’t stay sitting, suddenly. Washington looking out over the field with fond eyes, the late afternoon sun bright on him, and Alex can’t stay here. 

He starts to get to his feet, and Washington glances back at him questioningly; the light turns his eyes a shade of brown that’s nearly gold.

“I’m disgusting,” Alex mutters, gesturing to his clothes. “I should go change.” 

Washington snorts. “We’re all disgusting.” He stretches his legs out onto the grass, almost every inch of his skin mud-splashed or grass-stained. He seems at ease in a way Alex can never remember him being behind a desk. “Relax, eat some ice cream. There’s time for the rest later.” 

Alex wavers, half-crouched. He should stand and go back to his friends, start making his way through the jokes he can hear them thinking up from here about the way he trails Washington around. He should let Washington be before he shows his hand in a way he can’t take back. 

“Sit, Alexander.”

Alex sits. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos and comment if you liked it!  
*I'm on Tumblr at [icarusandtheson](https://icarusandtheson.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


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